Last week our Iran correspondent was expelled without explanation. In his last dispatch from Tehran, he talks about the country he grew to love and which he found to be at odds with its image as an austere Islamic nation.
The Guardian - The scenes of boisterous revelry would not have been out of place in a crowded nightclub. In time to a throbbing beat, men and women of varying ages danced with a sensuality and abandon at odds with their surroundings.
For this frivolity was taking place not on a dancefloor, but in the passageway of an Iranian bus on a seemingly humdrum cultural excursion from Tehran to the western city of Hamedan.
Denied a more appropriate venue by rigid Islamic regulations which forbid dancing in public, the passengers turned the coach into a travelling disco.
Drawing the curtains to keep their illicit activities hidden from onlookers, women discarded their obligatory overcoats and hijabs before letting their hair down for an uninhibited knees-up.
The tumultuous scenes were a graphic and defiant demonstration of the national passion for dancing, which - contrary to common stereotypes - Iranians perform with a grace and subtle eroticism beyond most westerners.
But the unlikely setting was also deeply symbolic of modern Iran, where much of real life takes place behind closed curtains and where what you see on the surface is often not what you get.
To the outside world, Iran is a religiously devout Islamic republic in the grip of a rigidly ascetic revolutionary ideology. But that image conceals a multitude of surprises and wells of pent-up energy.
Such insights gained from surreptitious glimpses beneath the surface of this bewildering and contradictory country will be lost to me from now on.
After nearly three years, I am leaving Iran. Having arrived fortified only with superficial snippets of knowledge gleaned from books, I depart with a kaleidoscope of memories and images, a limited but (I like to think) rapidly expanding grasp of Farsi and an Iranian wife. So I cannot say the experience has not been beneficial.
The austere image fostered by the Islamic authorities is very different from the Iran I know. Far from being the religious monolith projected by the regime, it will be forever associated in my mind with glorious food, dancing, dramatic landscapes, dazzling mosques and stunningly beautiful women. My departure is involuntary. The authorities have refused to renew my residence permit and have resisted all entreaties to reconsider.
It was the second attempt in the past year to send me packing, an earlier refusal to renew my documentation having been reversed after the Guardian appealed on my behalf. The culture and Islamic guidance ministry, which is responsible for monitoring the activities of foreign journalists, provided no reason for the latest decision but a foreign ministry official told me I had been deemed guilty of negative coverage of "his excellency", by whom he meant President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. Whether or not it can be taken at face value, the explanation provides an illuminating counterpoint to Ahmadinejad's protestations that the Islamic regime allows free speech and tolerates criticism.
In fact, the president's description is an Orwellian inversion of reality. Under Ahmadinejad, the flame of relative glasnost tentatively ignited under the reformist presidency of Mohammad Khatami has been extinguished. Liberal-minded newspapers critical of the government have been closed and journalists jailed for misdemeanours ranging from printing "lies" to insulting Islamic mores. Criticism is not welcomed and is being met with decreasing tolerance.
This prohibitive atmosphere has spread to the rapidly dwindling foreign press corps and, in that context, my effective expulsion is hardly surprising. I was the last remaining British print journalist of an English-language newspaper. Other reporters had either been expelled or had left, their places vacant after visas were denied to their chosen replacements. With a tiny number of exceptions, most western outlets now rely on English-speaking local Iranian correspondents, a situation welcomed by the authorities who reason that their own citizens are more susceptible to pressure than journalists from outside.
Covering Iran has always been fiendishly complicated. Permission has to be sought for virtually all trips outside of Tehran; requests to visit sensitive border provinces such as Kurdistan and Sistan-Baluchistan are routinely denied. Information has long been hard to come by. The local English-language papers, providing a mixture of international wire reports and regime-spun propaganda, are rarely a source of news. Access to officials is virtually non-existent and interviews with important figures a pipe dream.
Yet when I arrived at the tail end of Khatami's presidency, I joined a small and active community of western correspondents and stringers, who were closely watched but relatively unmolested by the authorities. Having been virtually absent since the aftermath of the 1979 Islamic revolution, the foreign media had drifted back after Khatami's landslide election victory in 1997, which seemed to promise a thaw in Iran's relations with the west.
The dynamic changed after Ahmadinejad's election in June 2005. Driven by fears of a US military attack and a residual paranoia that suspected all westerners as spies, the new president's hardline administration put the spotlight on foreign reporters as never before. Resident press visa applications were denied, press cards were not renewed and correspondents were expelled on flimsy security pretexts as the regime gradually put up the shutters on international coverage.
Those reporters remaining were subject to harsher scrutiny. From personal experience, this could lurch from the Kafkaesque to the ridiculous. On a visit to an archaeological site in the ancient town of Shush that could hardly have been considered a security threat, a man in dark glasses - presumably from the local branch of the intelligence ministry - followed me with a video camera. Some months ago, I became aware that a wide-angled camera had been trained on my front door after a contact in the Iranian student movement told me that during an interrogation intelligence agents had shown him photos of him entering and leaving my house.
Recently, visiting South Khorasan province for a story on Iran's saffron industry, I was shadowed for two days by a security agent from the provincial governor's office. His unstinting dedication even extended to accompanying me to the toilet.
The irony of this Ahmadinejad-inspired clampdown is that the man himself is a journalist's dream. His theatrical persona and blow-torch rhetoric has given a dramatic lease of life to a story which hitherto, while interesting, was largely dormant.
When I arrived, Iran's nuclear programme was a source of western concern but lacked the urgency of an international crisis. Khatami's nuclear negotiating team had suspended uranium enrichment in a conciliatory gesture and the issue was essentially on the back burner. Coming from a background in the revolutionary guards and with a political philosophy rooted in messianic beliefs, Ahmadinejad transformed that scenario. Within days of his taking office, the country's uranium enrichment programme had been re-started and within months he was boasting that Iran had joined the nuclear club and was not for turning back.
It may not have been all his doing; nuclear policy comes under the ultimate direction of the supreme leader, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei. Yet it was Ahmadinejad's polarising personality that converted Iran's relations with the west, particularly the US, from simmering mistrust to outright conflict that found expression in UN security council resolutions and sanctions.
Internationally, Ahmadinejad has been viewed largely in the context of his views on Israel and the Holocaust, which was perhaps his intention as well as his just deserts. The Holocaust conference, staged at his behest and attended by an international rogues' gallery of deniers, was an unmitigated disgrace. Yet depicting Ahmadinejad as a pantomime "new Hitler" bent on Israel's destruction over-simplifies a complex, if misguided, political figure who does not lack sympathetic traits.
It may not redeem him in the eyes of his many critics, but his demagoguery and ignorance of western history are often leavened by a capacity to be funny, intentionally or not. It is hard not to laugh about a politician brazen enough to offer his services as a US presidential election observer. There is also something reassuringly human about a man so sensitive to mockery that he orders aides to monitor jokes circulating about him on text messages or so fearful of assassination that he suspends his Islamist principles by deploying sniffer dogs to detect possible explosives.
His more humane impulses manifested themselves in a desire to deliver "justice" to the poor, expressed in a pre-election promise to bring oil wealth to people's tables and in a chaotic mix of measures, such as mandatory wage rises for the low-paid and awarding "justice shares" in state-owned companies to low-income families.
None of these redeeming features amount to sufficient qualification to be president and they are offset by a darker side. Ahmadinejad's chaotic economic management has triggered an inflationary spiral that is crippling the middle classes and threatens to deliver his goal of economic justice in the unintended form of a more even spread of poverty.
Strikingly for a man so keen on displaying his spiritual leanings, his pre-occupation with justice does not appear to extend beyond the economic or material realm. He seems to have no room for human rights, which have deteriorated alarmingly during his presidency. In the past year, the number of executions - many carried out in public - has soared while scores of women and student activists have been arrested and some allegedly tortured in detention. Thousands of women have been arrested or cautioned for breaching Islamic dress codes in a zealous crackdown on moral offences unknown in Khatami's time.
Yet it would be wrong to conclude from all this that Ahamdinejad is mad or evil. As the reformist politician Saeed Hajarian explained to me months ago, the president's beliefs and governing style are rooted deep within the traditions of Iranian society. Those traditions are religious and rural in origin. They are held dear by millions of Iranians who, like Ahmadinejad's family, migrated from remote villages to the cities amid a great wave of social and economic change during the reign of the last shah. At their core is a fear of many aspects of the modern world that are taken for granted in the west.
This was lost on me when I first arrived in Tehran. The city's concrete modernity, stylishly attired population, the ubiquity of mobile phones and myriad other contemporary features all conspired to delude me into believing that, despite more than a quarter-century in isolation, this was a country at home in the modern world.
It was a mirage. Iran is a country still in thrall to the past, I gradually discovered. While Tehran's affluent northern suburbs display an alluring modern edifice, tradition - far more than religion - is the true bedrock.
It refers not just to a few quaint customs rooted in a bygone age, but to much of what Iranians live by today. The Farsi word for tradition, sonnat, answered so many of my questions. It explained why women from poorer families cover themselves with forbidding black chadors, why women are expected to remain virgins until marriage and sundry other social conventions.
It also explains Ahmadinejad's intolerance of press freedom and dissent, which stems from Iran's traditional tendency towards authoritarianism. A free press is nothing if not a symbol of the modernity the country has yet to embrace and the president's attitude is simply in line with the majority of its ruling classes.
Yet change is coming and its key agent may well be the very man charged with holding it back. For the past two years, Ahmadinejad and his revolutionary guard backers have been preparing for war. But that prospect seems to have receded after this month's report from 16 US intelligence agencies concluded that Iran had suspended its nuclear weapons programme four years ago. Ahmadinejad hailed the report as a victory, but in the absence of looming war as its defining raison d'être, his team has to come up with a programme for peace.
There is little evidence of such a plan but unless he finds one fast, the radical president could be washed away in a tidal wave of economic problems of his own making. If so, events may show him to have been an essential catalyst to political change by demonstrating the limitations of Islamic radicalism.
Iran is desperately in need of a sustainable political consensus. Ahmadinejad's narrow ideology is incapable of delivering that. The nation's culture is too varied and too vital to be wrapped up inside religion alone.
Its people are thirsting for a sense of social freedom which the Islamic system is withholding from them. The gusto with which they danced on the bus was ample demonstration of that.
(Mehr News Agency) - Former president Mohammad Khatami called on pro-reform movements on Wednesday to wait and see what would be the result of the petitions filed for reconsidering the competence of the rejected parliamentary candidates by the vetting bodies. 
